These violent delights have violent ends.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep.

By God, I cannot flatter, I do defy The tongues of soothers! but a braver place In my heart's love hath no man than yourself. Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.

Time, whose millioned accidents creep in betwixt vows, and change decrees of kings, tan sacred beauty, blunt the sharpest intents, divert strong minds to the course of altering things.

Beware the ides of March.

To gild refined gold, to paint the lily... is wasteful and ridiculous excess

Thou call'st me dog before thou hadst a cause, But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.